


That's what best friends are for

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Hurt, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: Series of one-shots describing important moments in the friendship of Strike and Ilsa.





	1. Chapter 1

When Strike first met Ilsa, they had both been babies, only months apart in age. Their mothers had put them to nap together more times than any of them could remember, and there were many pictures of both babies snuggled up together like cubs, usually in physical contact, one big, chubby and with a dark mane of curls, and another blonde, with pink cheeks and a perky nose.

As they grew up, Ilsa was the first to become a baby on the move, Strike being described as a lazy boy. But Strike seemed to always keep his eyes on her, and when Ilsa got her very first bloody knee after falling to the ground in a St. Mawes beach, at age 4, Strike, who had been standing by her side, was the first to reach her and hug her. They were inseparable.

The pair soon became known for their teamwork. Ilsa always seemed the one to encourage action, and Strike the one to actually act upon Ilsa's plans. Ilsa would cover him and Strike would have her back too. If he was hungry, she fetched him food, and if she decided to go on adventure, Strike would resign himself to go after her. And every time Leda would take her son away, both children would cry themselves to sleep for days, until they were old enough to write each other restlessly, which they did as well.

Having each other's backs became such an essential part of their relationship that, when a suspicious older boy started stalking Ilsa in her young teens, Strike introduced himself as her brother and, one time the boy had tried to rape Ilsa, Strike had appeared and broken the boy's face. And every time Strike had a boxing match, Ilsa would be there to cure his bruises.

Strike was the one to threaten Nick with murdering him if he ever hurt Ilsa. Ilsa was the one to threaten Charlotte several times in similar ways. Ilsa ran to Strike when she got engaged both times, and she held a crying Strike all through the night when Leda was killed, and all through the funeral. No birthday of neither of them had gone by without a huge present arriving in the other's name.

So that fateful day Ilsa got the call from a hysterical Lucy saying Strike had gotten blown-up and was being taken to a hospital in Germany, but a very pregnant Lucy couldn't go, Ilsa naturally felt like her world fell apart but, keeping herself together, said:

"It's okay, I'll go."

And work and studies aside, she jumped on a plane off to Munich and didn't stop until she was let into Strike's room. It was a rainy day and the water hammered against the windows as Ilsa walked through the ICU room to the dark corner where her best friend lied on bed behind a curtain. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw him sleeping, connected to machines and tubes and breathing through a mask. There was a thick bandage around his head, an arm up in a cast and an emptiness in the lower part of the sheets that made Ilsa's heart cringe.

So she sat on a stool by the bed, and took his hand. Even in the darkness, Strike was visibly pale and his hand felt sweaty and cold, so Ilsa breathed into it to warm it up, and caressed his face gently.

"Mummy?" Strike grumbled, his eyelids fluttering.

"Try again," Ilsa whispered with a soft smile, leaning to kiss his sweaty forehead. Strike smiled then.

"Ilsa." He spoke hoarsely. "Of course..." 

"Where else would I be?" Said Ilsa with a gentle voice, sniffling back a sob.

"Ilsa... My leg..."

"I know, but it's okay. You'll be okay again, I'll make sure of it."

"Ilsa..." Strike's eyes opened just a bit and his eyes searched for her with fear. "Where are you? Please don't go... It hurts..."

"I'm right here," Ilsa put his hand against her cheek and once again, he smiled tiredly. "I'll always be here. I will take you with me to London, and when they release you, you'll come home with Nick and I and we will take care of you."

"I need you to distract me," said Strike. "'Cause it really hurts!" He groaned. Ilsa chuckled with sadness and nodded.

"It's going to be alright, Oggy. Soon we'll be getting drunk and calling you Pirate and other dumb nicknames, and we will laugh about this. Just think of Doom Bar, Ted's boat... Can you hear the rain? Can you taste the salt?"

"And you'll always be there?"

"Always. That's what best friends are for."

"Promise me," said Strike like a scared child. He was in a vulnerability he'd only let Ilsa witness, and they both knew Ilsa would never tell anyone. "Promise you will still look at me without disgust. That nothing has changed, that you won't leave me like any other girl did."

"Oh, Oggy," Ilsa held back a sob and pressed her lips against his forehead. "But everything has changed. Although, I can promise you... I promise you nothing will ever change between us. I'll be here just like I've been all our lives, and no matter how hurt you are, I will stay. I won't leave. I won't look at you with disgust, with anything but the love and affection I've always looked at you with. You're my brother. That won't change."

"That's all I need," Strike's eyes closed, and his thumb brushed against her cheek. "I won't leave you either, Ilsa. No more travelling around. I'm sorry I almost didn't come back."

"I knew you would," Ilsa put her head resting on the pillow next to Strike. "You always do."

In the darkness, Strike smiled.

"That's what best friends are for, sis."


	2. Chapter 2

Strike sat on a bench with a tear-stained face and no strength for a fag. At twenty-years-old, he had never in his life felt so broken, so powerless, so devastated. His eyes kept watering no matter how much he angrily brushed them with the heels of his palms, and he couldn't believe this was his life now. Strike had only been an orphan -even if the dickhead of his father was alive, he wasn't even counting him anymore- for a few hours, just enough time to get a call from Shanker and drive all the way from Oxford to London, see his dead mother and try to punch Whittaker, her husband. Strike had seen social services take his baby brother, Switch LaVey Bloom Whittaker, to the baby's great-grandfather's house, and had stood in shock as police asked questions, trying to blame Leda for her death when Strike knew she wasn't responsible.

Who do you call in a situation like that? Strike had phoned his Uncle Ted in St. Mawes, who said he'd pick Lucy up in University, he'd take the family to London, he'd take care of things, and Ted had begged him to seek refugee in Nick's family. Nick was in Cambridge, and he was his nearest best friend, aside from Shanker, who was too devastated to be a company Strike could appreciate. Nick was studying there in Cambridge to become a doctor one day, and then there was Strike's girlfriend, Charlotte, who didn't know a thing yet. Strike had left her in Oxford without an explanation, but she had probably found out by the news, because she had called him five times and left a hundred messages at least. Strike had ultimately replied with one text;

**'Can't talk. Mum's dead. I'll be with my family. Call you later. Xoxo.'**

That hadn't stopped Charlotte, but it was something, at least. He had then encouraged himself to text his two best friends in the world.

**'Nick, it's Cormoran. Whittaker's finally done it; mum's dead. I'm in London, going to your parents tonight, Ted spoke to them already. Whittaker's been arrested, but I think they'll let him go, his family paid some good lawyer. Anyway, just to let you know I'm alright. Won't be looking at my phone much today, I need to be by myself now. Hope to see you soon.'**

Strike stopped himself before texting Ilsa. Nick and Ilsa had broken up a year before, after a year together, as they all had gone to University, and they hadn't seen each other since. Nick was going to be a doctor, Strike had seen him take tough news with relative calmness, but Ilsa was another story. She got easily affected with things, she was very empathetic, which was why Strike was sure she'd be a fantastic lawyer one day. Problem was, Strike couldn't just text her; if she was in class, she'd lose it.

Ilsa studied in Reading, which wasn't too far away, and Strike found himself craving her company all of the sudden. He was sitting alone in a rainy park waiting for a call of his young sister freaking out, and he missed his best friend. Ilsa was, along with his friend Dave Polworth in Plymouth's University, her oldest friend. She was also a girl; naturally sensitive. So, feeling an urge to move, he rushed to his old battered second hand car, a gift from Ted on the year he had gone off to University. He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror; he was young and thin, his eyes glassy, his face pale and sad, and stubble-covered, and his rebellious thick curls were more rebellious than ever. Strike was wearing a simple shirt with an old jumper, and he imagined he looked decent enough for Ilsa. She had seen him worse.

Hitting the pedal, Strike rushed to Reading. There was no music in the car, just him and his thoughts, and he focused on the road to avoid thinking of painful things. He just thought of Ilsa. Finally, he parked the car by the Reading campus, between the old, pretty buildings, in a thin Whitenight Road by the School of Law. He then walked inside and camouflaged as an student.

“Excuse me,” Strike stopped a girl that walked by. She looked at him with curiosity. “Sorry, I'm looking for a friend, she's in her second year of law, any idea where she might be?”

“Uh...” the girl shrugged and pointed ahead into the countryside. “They just finished the last class of today I think. I saw a bunch of second year's going to the lake.”

“The lake?” asked Strike, confused. The girl nodded.

“Whiteknight lake,” she said. “Students frequently go there.”

“Thank you,” Strike nodded. “By any chance, maybe you know my friend? Ilsa Turner, she's got a thick Cornish accent? Blonde, with big glasses, tall...” he gestured with his hand. The girl smiled.

“I don't know her name, but her description sounds familiar. Yeah, I might've seen her by the lake.”

“Right, thank you, thanks...”

Strike rushed in the direction the girl had pointed to, and hurried as he spotted a big mass of water, and many groups of students. Ilsa's black glasses were easily spotted as Strike followed the sound of her laugh. He finally saw her sitting with a bunch of friends, drinking a bottle of water with her backpack on her lap. Strike hurried from behind her, and once he was by the group, he called her.

“Ilsa!” Strike forced a smile. Ilsa turned around super fast and jumped to her feet.

“Corm! What...?” she then saw his eyes and Strike saw the colour leave her face. Without muttering another word, she took her backpack on one hand, his hand in another, and pulled him away to a more isolated area behind a building, by the lake's shore. “Corm...” she took his face between her hands. Strike took a shaky breath, his eyes filling with tears as he looked into her greenish ones, crumbling at her motherly concern.

“He killed her, Ilsa. He killed mum,” Strike cried out. Ilsa's eyes widened and Strike crumbled in a mess of sobs into her arms, hugging her tightly and Ilsa hugging him tightly in response, with a hand buried in his curls. He was much taller than her, but she stood stoically supporting his weight.

They hugged and hugged and after a while, Strike just supported his head on her shoulder, spent, taking deep breaths. He noticed then that Ilsa was whispering comforting words to his hear, brushing his hair softly, kissing the side of his head. He noticed she was silently sobbing. They ended up sitting on the grass, Strike with his head on her shoulder once again, and Ilsa gave him a tissue and water from her backpack.

“When?” asked Ilsa finally.

“Last night,” said Strike. “I got the call from the police earlier this morning. Drove all the way from Oxford, called everyone. Ted will pick-up Luce.” His voice was hoarse and Ilsa kissed the top of his forehead, caressing his hair.

“Tell me they've arrested him. Tell me he's away for good...”

“I don't think he'll be arrested for long, Ilsa,” Strike murmured. “It was my word against his and his expensive lawyers.” Strike felt Ilsa tense and then relax beneath her. He was sure of what Ilsa was thinking, wishing she was a grown-up lawyer so she could take Jeff Whittaker to court and put him away forever. She tightened an arm around him and he closed his eyes, smelling her cologne.

“Are you going back to Cornwall?”

“I don't know. I don't want to go back to Oxford though.”

“I'll call my parents. We'll all go to London until this gets wrapped-up,” said Ilsa. “Then we can all go home.”

“But Ilsa, the finals are a couple months ago...” said Strike, “You can't just leave...”

“I'll say my aunt passed, take a few weeks, study from home,” argued Ilsa, talking softly. “I'm not even lying, she's... was...” Ilsa took a shaky breath and shook her head, hugging him even closer.

They sat in silence.

“What are we going to do now, Ilsa?” murmured Strike.

“Stick together,” replied Ilsa softly. Her voice, too, sounded hoarse. “That's what she would want. That's what family is for.”

 


	3. A Herbert Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilsa's wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this from my phone due to some issues with the laptop, so please excuse any errors.

This was the day Ilsa had been waiting for the last few years of her life. She knew she was only twenty-four, everyone had pointed out how young she and her fiancé were, but she also knew she had been so lucky to have am authentic love story, of those only seen in movies. She was head over heels in love and she knew her future husband was too. She trusted him more than anyone else and she had never felt so sure in her life. After all they had gone through, they were finally going to be together forever and ever.

The day was such a big, expected and dreamed of event, that they hadn't precisely held off expenses. A friend of Nick's father was the archbishop of Glasgow's Cathedral, and it didn't matter it was freaking Scotland; they had flown there in an instant. 

So there was Ilsa, waiting in her room for the ceremony, while her mother perfected her hair, and Joan and Mrs Herbert sat with them chatting.

"Nervous, darling?" Asked Joan, seeing Ilsa glance at the clock nervously for the tenth time.

"Not about marrying," Ilsa assured. "Is just, shouldn't Cormoran be here already? He said he wouldn't miss it. He promised." She added anxiously.

Her best friend was a soldier Royal Military Policeman on a mission in Iraq as part of the training before he could join the Special Investigations Branch of the Royal Military Police. As such, he had sworn he would get some days to be there for his best friends' wedding, and due to that he had started the long trip the day before. Yet he hadn't arrived yet.

"He might be chatting with Nick and everyone else. He has been away for six months, after all." Reasoned her mum.

"He better be with Lucy," said Ilsa. "If he's not here soon, I swear I'll..."

Suddenly the door opened with a bang and they turned to see Cormoran Strike standing handsome and sexy with his RMP uniform and red cap, the ceremony version of the attire, all elegant and grinning.

"Cormoran, love!" His aunt, Joan, ran to him and hugged him tightly.

"Hi auntie," said Strike, hugging her with such a strength he lift her up a little and she giggled.

Ilsa was soon in his arms as well.

"You made it!" Ilsa said enjoying his masculine perfume, and feeling how big, strong and thin he was between her arms. He was all muscle, and his curls were tucked nicely under the cap. He had grown a bit of a beard and was trimmed nicely. "You look so handsome." She beamed at him, stopping to see him.

Strike was giving her a look she had never seen in him, with glassy bright eyes and a beaming grin. He looked younger.

"You look exuberant. Happy. Gorgeous. Nick is a very lucky bastard." Ilsa giggled and blushed.

"Have you seen him yet?" Strike shook his head.

"I came straight to you! I couldn't wait to see you."

Ilsa hugged him again, feeling the happiest in her life and finally at peace.

"Now this day cannot get better."

"Ready to marry?" Said Strike.

"Now yes." replied Ilsa.

Strike chuckled, kissing her forehead.

"You two deserve this. You're going to be so happy together. Too young, absolutely nuts to marry... But together as it was always meant to be. I'd wish you luck, but I need it more than you."

Ilsa giggled and Strike squeezed her hands gently.

"I couldn't do this without my best friend." Ilsa recognised, blushing.

"I couldn't miss this for the world." Strike smiled. "Let me get your future husband ready and let's marry you two!"

They hugged again and Strike left the room. Ilsa smiled as a sense of deep calmness and comfort settled in her heart.


	4. The triplets

Strike hurried to the hospital's lift like an anxious wolf, his hand intertwined with his girlfriend's hand. Her blue-gray eyes found his dark green ones, and she looked softly at him, reaching to caress his face.  
"She'll be okay," Robin assured him. "She's a tough woman."  
"Why do they have to be so bloody insistant with having kids?" Asked Strike anxiously, without really hoping for an answer. "If something happens to her I..."  
"She'll be just fine. You heard Nick, she just needs to rest and the doctors are looking after her..."  
"She almost bleed out to death." Strike stressed. The lift opened and they rushed down the corridor, looking up anxiously at the door numbers.  
"Almost, exactly. Baby, woman literally bleed enormous amounts monthly. Believe me, she's in perfect hands."  
"I will believe it when I see her."  
Robin rolled her eyes but looked fondly at her boyfriend as he pulled her into a room. There, finally, Ilsa lied in bed, half asleep. Nick sat on the feet of the bed, grinning, holding two babies in his arms. Ilsa was holding a third one lazily, it mostly supported on her body. She looked up at Strike, who let a breath out in relief, and smiled weakly.  
"Hello, Godfather."  
"If you ever do that again..." Strike threatened, lifting a finger and then shaking his head and rushing to hug Ilsa, who giggled, and kiss her forehead.  
"Congrats guys!" Robin put a giant teddy bear on a chair and hugged Nick. "They're so pretty!" She added looking at the babies.  
"They are!" Nick agreed cheerfully.  
"I was so fucking worried," Strike whispered to Ilsa. "Are you okay now, then?"  
"I've never been better," assured Ilsa sincerely, kissing the top of the baby's head. "Little ones, say hi to your God-daddy Oggy," she said sweetly. "Who's going to try super hard to be an awesome godfather," she added chuckling tiredly at Strike, who looked skeptical, "and buy your love with toys and beer."  
"That does sound more like me," Strike admitted. His serious expression finally broke into a smile and he rubbed Nick's hair playfully. "Congrats, parents. You finally did it." He looked affectionately at Ilsa, who nodded. "I hope it was worth scaring the shit out of me." Robin smiled down at them, sitting by Ilsa and kissing her temple. Ilsa sniggered at Strike and Nick snorted a laugh and shook his head.  
"Very worth it indeed," Ilsa nodded. She looked at Robin and with a joking tone, she added. "Did he pee his pants?" Robin sniggered.  
"Thoroughly." Robin joked with a gleeful tone. Strike admonished her with his eyes and rolled eyes.  
"She bleed..." Strike started.  
"Oh, you know me, I'm hard to beat." Ilsa raised eyebrows at Strike, quoting what he had told her the first time he got shot. Strike caught it.  
"Alright, lesson learned! Now, which one of these is going to learn to bring Uncle Corm a beer when he comes visit?" He pointed to the babies in general, and the adults laughed.  
When the babies where in their cribs, asleep, Ilsa brought Strike close for another hug and he kissed the top of her head.  
"Are you going to like these babies at least?" Ilsa murmured.  
"Are you kidding me?" Strike smiled. "Not to be cheesy, but they're as beautiful as their mum, then have half of each of my best friends... And they will bring me beer. I'm going to love them."  
When Ilsa saw the sincerity in his eyes, she grinned, despite her tiredness. She had never been happier.


	5. Robin's pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My favourite so far

Thunder made London tremble and a lighting reflected on the pools created on the road as Strike hurried under the rain, a soaked figure in the darkness of the night. His hairy fist was soon pressing his best friends' doorbell insistently, and then his big knuckles knocked on the door insistently.

Finally the door opened and his best friend Doctor Nick Herbert looked at him with a scowl, in his pyjamas, and slightly breathless from having run to open the door.

"Jesus, Oggy!" Nick rushed him inside and closed after him. "You're going to wake the triplets up, they're only a year old, they need their sleep."

"I'm sorry." Strike, absolutely drenched, let a breath out, running a hand through his damp curls.

"What's wrong, mate?" Asked Nick, worried.

"Love, what's up?" Ilsa appeared at the top of the stairs and saw them. "Christ, Corm, what's wrong?" She rushed downstairs towards them, fastening her housecoat around her.

"I... Uh..." Strike huffed. "It's just... I'm sorry... I..." Ilsa looked at Nick.

"Darling, you've got work early tomorrow, go back to bed. I'll take this," Ilsa told her husband softly. Nick looked at Strike and nodded, knowing he was in good hands.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, mate. Everything is temporary," except Strike's problem wasn't temporary. In fact, it worsened with time. Nick palmed Strike's back affectionately, kissed his wife goodnight, and went back to bed upstairs.

Ilsa pulled Strike to the kitchen, sat him on a stool, and took his coat, pants, and jumper to throw them in the dryer, putting his shoes next to a portable heater without muttering a word, giving him time to sort out his thoughts, sitting in boxers and a strapless underwear t-shirt wrapped up in a big towel Ilsa quickly gave him. Once his clothes were in the dryer, Ilsa put the kettle in the stove and wordlessly took a small towel and stood behind him, drying his head with it, in a motherly way.

Once the two cups of tea were ready, they moved to the sofa and Ilsa wrapped a blanket around Strike over the towel. She waited in silence as he toon a long sip of the warm liquid.

"Robin's pregnant," Strike blurted out all of the sudden. He tentatively looked up at her surprised face. The two had been dating for about a year and a half, and as serious as they were, Ilsa knew this wasn't planned. Strike had never wanted children. He made a somewhat good, decent godfather to the triplets, but he struggled with being half as good with his other godchildren or with his nephews. He simply didn't know how to be with children, and with the triplets he just treated them as miniature versions of Nick and Ilsa. "We're always so careful, but then one time we got drunk and a bit too horny and..." Strike sighed. For Ilsa, who had been trying to have children for over a decade before they had arrived, it seemed a bad joke from life to put it so hard for her and so easy for someone who didn't want them. "She had been feeling unwell for a while and her physician recommended she had a check-up at the ob/gyn, so she went and today we had the first ultrasound. We saw it and heard it's heartbeat. It's super tiny and looks like an alien, but it's very real."

"You've never wanted children. Robin does," stated Ilsa, who had become besties with Robin despite the ten years of age gap between them. Strike nodded. "Is she going to have it?"

"Yes. She's very determined, she said she's had traumas enough, with her rape and all, and that she wouldn't recover from an abortion. Besides, it could have serious consequences on her health, I understand. She also said it would be too hurtful for her to give it up for adoption, but that she'll understand if I don't want to be a part of it. You know how nice she is, of course she gives me the choice to go," Strike sounded so sad it crushed Ilsa. "She even smiled through the tears so I wouldn't feel bad. She said this is not how she wanted things to be; the agency has been rising for a while now and we have so much work, and she's unmarried and her flat's tiny. But she said she eventually wanted a kid, she's happy it'll have my DNA, and there's nothing she can do but love the kid and raise it. That she'll be strong for it and her family will help and she hopes we can still work together if not stay friends. We haven't broken up yet, but I asked her some days to figure things out. It's a lot to take in for me."

"Corm, you knew you wanted different things and you still dated her. Why do you do these things to yourself?"

"Because she's special. Because I'm so in love, Ilsa, the idea of losing her... I've never felt this way for anyone before. I don't know how to do life without her, I genuinely don't. The agency needs her too," he sounded so troubled and miserable, Ilsa could only bring him into her arms and caress his hair as he supported on her chest like her babies did.

Ilsa understood he had a serious problem. He couldn't even fathom life without Robin, he couldn't even think of abandoning his child like his father had abandoned him, but he couldn't be a dad either. He was between the wall and the sword and she wasn't too surprised when she heard him cry silently against her chest.

"How am I going to be a dad? I never had one, I don't even know..."

"You have plenty of examples of how to be the worst possible dad, then you have good father examples, like Ted, Nick, Mr Ellacott, Dave..." Ilsa said sweetly, pressing her lips against the top of his head. "Sweetheart, if you ask me, I'd say you have great potential to be a wonderful father. You've been an incredible brother to both Lucy and I, fathering isn't too different. And I've seen how you learn fast and with my kids you're way better than I've ever seen you be with kids."

"That's because they have my best friends, DNA." Strike murmured against her chest.

"This one will have yours and the love of your life's. Maybe it'll even look a bit like your mum. Maybe it'll be a detective nerd and will want to play at the office and learn the job. Honey, very often the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You'd be impressed to discover how much a kid can remind you of yourself or your partner, even nephew, you're so much like Ted... So I won't be minimally surprised if your kid speaks Latin before English." Ilsa smiled, squeezing him tight. "I'm godmama though. You'll have all of us to help you, a bunch of us, starting by Lucy, have been dying to be aunties and uncles." Strike snorted a laugh.

"Lucy's going to flip," Strike pulled apart to look at her. "You think I can be a dad?"

"I think you'll make an excellent one," Ilsa grinned.

"But I'm forty-nine almost..."

"Mature grown up adult, the older the wiser."

"I know nothing of kids..."

"None of us has any idea of what we're doing until we do it," Ilsa shrugged. She looked at him in the eye. "Corm, remember what you said at Leda's funeral? That she didn't have much money, nor a good job, a good house, a likeable lifestyle, experience, maturity... But she was an excellent, unforgettable mum, because for one thing she always had clear in her mind, it was that she would never turn her back on her children nor any other person who needed her. That she always shared the little she had, was kind like no one else, in her home there was always space for one more, like Shanker. You said she'd starve to feed her children, and would do anything to give them a bed, schooling, food. That she loved so hard and she gave the best hugs and she was her kids' biggest fan and supporter, she was mum and dad, and for all those things, she was already the best you could've asked for. And I think you can be all of that and more to your kid. I think you can even give them more, you know all you have to know... And you've got an enormous kind heart. What else could your child ask for? It's not about being rich, able to play football, talented... You never needed any of that from your mum. This kid will have Robin, who's wonderful, and you, who are a bit of a hero, and so much family and friends and live and support... It already has it all and it hasn't even been born yet. And whatever mistakes you make, it will forgive you because it'll know you tried your best and that for starters, you stayed to try."

Strike looked at her with glassy eyes and then, slowly, he nodded.

"You're right. This isn't any child, is Robin's and mine. I love her and I will love this one and if I could be enough for Robin, I will be for this. I'll have her by my side all the time anyway and..." Strike suddenly looked at Ilsa, his jaw dropping. "I'm going to marry her, Ilsa. I need to..." He rushed to fetch his wallet, that Ilsa had taken off his trousers before putting them in the dryer, and left on the coffee table. Strike pulled one of Leda's favourite rings, a golden band with super tiny red dots and golden stars, out of his wallet, and Ilsa grinned, taken by surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"I want a family," Strike looked at Ilsa as if he was the most surprised. "Mum always said one day I'd love someone and I'd understand it all and now I do. I get it, Ilsa. My life makes no sense without Robin," he looked stupefied. "Mum would kill me if I let her go, hell, everyone, even myself, would. She wants this old, battered dinosaur... And I can't live without her. She's always been the kind of woman you marry, have children and a pretty house with... And I always dreamed of a decent home. This child will be perfect because it will be part of her, and our home will be perfect, like the agency, because Robin makes the most disastrous things shine through and I want it all to be absolutely perfect for her. She deserves it. Ilsa..." Strike gulped. "I know for 38 years, I never wanted this kind of Disney fairytale thing. But I'm growing old and I'm getting gray hair. I'm tired and... I just want to snuggle with my family and have a calm, happy rest of my life, after a life of trouble, adventure, drama and far too much anguish and little rest. Robin deserves a fairytale and... I want it all as long as it's with her."

Ilsa grinned from ear to ear, knowing he fully meant it.

"Then go get her."

Just a few hours later, Ilsa would get a picture texted to her from Strike of him and Robin kissing as Leda's ring shun from her finger against his cheek. Months later, she'd get another of them both, grinning big, as they held their newborn baby, Strike hugging them both looking lovingly at them, all struck by lighting.


End file.
